Nothing like the sun
by ThreeMagpies
Summary: A Revolution, Blackout AU, Charloe GSC Summer fest fic, The bounty hunters took Monroe right out from under her bow and when she caught up with them, Charlie wasn't in the mood to be kind. Now her enemy, the man responsible for the deaths of her dad, her brother, Maggie, Nora and so many others was there in that empty pool, tied up and helpless, so why couldn't she kill him?


… **Nothing like the sun**

A Revolution fic (Blackout AU): Sebastian (Bass) Monroe/Charlotte (Charlie) Matheson, Charloe. Rating M.

The bounty hunters had taken Monroe right out from under her bow and when she finally caught up with them, Charlie wasn't in the mood to be kind. She didn't like killing, not unless she had to but they'd given her no choice. Now her enemy, the man responsible for the deaths of her dad, her brother, Maggie, Nora and so many others was there in that empty pool, tied up and helpless in front of her. So why couldn't she kill him? And why did she keep seeing him in that tent in New Vegas…

AN: this is a little one-shot for the Good Ship Charloe's summer fic fest! The title is from the album of the same name by Sting (Gordon Sumner). Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! Cheers, Magpie

… **Nothing like the sun**

The two bounty hunters hadn't expected visitors, they'd been careless and she was fast and very good with her bow. And after she took care of them, Charlie sauntered down the steep slope into the old, cracked pool, her knife ready in one hand. She held a flickering torch in the other, although didn't really need it, even with the approaching dawn, the full moon was bright enough, its light making the shadows sharp, her satisfaction lining them with silver.

She stopped for a moment when she got close enough to see him clearly, close enough to bask in the fact that she had him, finally, was close enough to see his face, to know it was real...

Monroe's long, long legs were splayed and braced in the dusty, torn jeans, the torso lean and chest wide, muscles bulging in the old shirt and worn leather jacket. His arms were tied behind his back pulling the neck of the shirt open, laying bare the strong lines of his throat, the big artery pulsing there.

She gazed as it surged, fluttering to the beat of his heart, so vulnerable...

Incredibly he was still asleep… his chest rising and falling slowly, regularly, head wedged against the rungs of the ladder that ran down from the top edge, eyes closed, lips slightly open, body slumped against the concrete wall.

It'd be so easy just to stroll up to him and do it. Her hand twitched on the knife, the blade flashing…

She shook her head. It'd be too easy. She wanted him awake, wanted him to know that it was her when she did it…

Her eyes slid down over the long, moonlit lines of chest and throat under the torn and dirty fabric then back up again to the bruised, battered but still somehow beautiful face of the man she hated most in all the world. Her brows tightened into a frown, after all the things he'd done he should be ugly, horrible looking, but he wasn't, in fact the beard and moustache he'd grown out since the Tower made him even more good looking…

Her heart was pounding. He was tied up and helpless the way she'd been in Philly when he was the General and in charge of everything, but now that she had him right fucking there, all she could think about was what he'd looked like back in that tent in New Vegas. Sebastian Monroe walking tall and proud, shoulders broad, every muscle defined and outlined in sweat, his skin gleaming gold, bronze and crimson in the torchlight as he strutted around, eyes blazing, beating the bloody crap out of the other guy.

She hadn't been able to take her eyes off him. Couldn't stop watching him as she'd woven her way around the tent, through the crowd, brushing past men, women, the smells of unwashed bodies, dirty clothes, sweat, alcohol, sweet grass and tobacco making her light headed, woozy after the clean air outside… The thick, almost tangible waves of excitement and arousal all around her raising memories of a hard, hot male body wrapped around hers and a thick, hard, hot cock pumping into her, and she'd felt moisture pool between her legs, her clit pulsing and her jeans feeling way too tight...

But it wasn't bartender Jeff she was thinking about while she was watching that fight in New Vegas. It was Monroe.

She swallowed, taking a long, long breath, pulling herself together. She was so, so close to finally facing her nightmare, slaying her evil witch king, her Darth Vader, like in Aaron's old stories, but she hadn't expected him to be like this, hadn't expected to feel like this...

She tried to ignore all of that though, it was time to wake him up, time for her to get on with doing what she'd come here to do. The torch flickered, sputtered, flared again as she dropped it on the ground along with her pack and bow and took a step closer to him, her hand tight on her knife, the blade shining, sharp. She cleared her throat, hoarse with anticipation, 'Rise and shine.'

His eyes opened, startled, searching, a brilliant, bloodshot blue even in the moon and torchlight, flaring wide as he saw her, recognised her. Bemused, with a kind of admiration and - if she wasn't dreaming - something like relief dancing in those blue depths? 'Charlotte?'

She licked her lips and smiled, triumph and satisfaction making her eyes gleam, an eyebrow arching. 'Surprised?'

His lips twisted, full of irony... 'Kid, I don't know how you found me, but no, somehow I'm not surprised...' The voice was cracked and dry and he looked around her into the shadows, expectant, wary, 'I guess this means the bounty hunters are taken care of. So where're Miles and your mom?'

Her eyes narrowed and the smile slipped. 'They're not here. I tracked you to New Vegas on my own.' She tipped her head up to the rim of the pool, 'took care of the bounty hunters on my own too…' She stepped a little closer, looking up at his face, the raw sweaty male, dirty with a tinge of blood scent of him flowing into her nostrils, stealing under her skin. 'I nearly had you in New Vegas, Monroe, I gave some guy a few diamonds to have you come meet me like the good little whore you are, and then those two idiots took you away from me…' she shrugged, her fingers tightening on her knife. 'And now I've got you back.'

He choked off a laugh, looking her up and down, pausing at the knife, then those bluer than blue eyes fixed on her face. 'Can't argue with that…Ok, you've got me, Charlie, and you haven't used that knife yet,' he seemed genuinely curious, 'so what are you going to do with me?'

Her eyes flared, a hot flush rising from her toes to her hairline and her clit pulsing as her mind ran through the possibilities in glorious real life colour. Shit. She shifted her feet, trying to take her mind off thoughts of him, falling back on something easy. 'I didn't say you could call me Charlie.'

He noticed the flush, of course he did, even in the dark, and his eyes narrowed as he watched her, his teeth very white in the moonlight and his lips curved in a lazy smile, a confident, all male, flirting smile that sent her blood pressure soaring. 'So what do you want me to call you?'

Her hand tightened on the knife, her eyes narrowed to glinting slits. Damn him, how dare he think he could just play with her, treat her like one of his women, like that blond in the tent, as if she wasn't worth seeing as a threat when he was the one tied up against a fucking wall. She took a step forward, anger outweighing whatever else she'd been feeling… 'You don't get to call me anything. You're nothing. Just a drunk fighting for coin in a whorehouse.'

He froze for a moment then laughed, really laughed at her, although his eyes were angry more than amused this time. 'Kid, you might be trying to run away from your mom, but you're a whole hell of a lot like her.'

Glad that she'd got under his skin, but not that he'd got under hers with that crack about her mom, her face went hard, still… 'That's what my dad said just before he died, Monroe. After your soldiers shot him…' Charlie lifted the knife, the blade winking silver and red as it caught the light from the moon and the torch and she moved in closer, almost, almost touching him, the rounded tops of her breasts above her tank heaving with her breath as the heat of his body rolled over her in simmering waves. Then she reached up, her hand brushing over his shirt and the hard muscle beneath it as she pressed the sharp tip of the knife against the pulsing beat in the strong neck, the point of it denting the flesh but not cutting, not yet…

His gaze raked over her breasts, leaving hot, shivering traces on her skin, but other than that he didn't move, just stood there, still, waiting. Then he pulled in a deep breath, let it out and looked down at her, the anger gone, or hidden... 'I understand why you're angry, Charlotte, and if I were you I'd probably want to kill me too. But before you do, will you answer me one question?'

She stared up at him, suspicious… trying to decide whether to give him the satisfaction or just to flick the knife a little deeper, harder and it would be done, finished, over. But standing this close to him was distracting, his big body right there in front of her disturbing her equilibrium, or what was left of it anyway, turning her mind to thoughts of that tent again…

She took a step back, the tip of the knife leaving a tiny drop of blood on his skin as she pulled it away. 'What do you want to know?'

He leaned forward, towards her, the look on his face so intense she almost flinched, almost. 'You were there that night, in the tower?' He swallowed, 'it was Randall, wasn't it. He pushed the button. He sent the bombs to Philly and Atlanta…'

Of all the things she thought he might want to ask her, that hadn't been one of them. She stared back at him for a long moment, then nodded, a tiny movement of her chin but still a nod…

He blew out a breath through his teeth, 'I knew it, and I walked him in the front door, I might as well have pushed the button myself…'

She stood there as he spouted something full of crap about people relying on him to keep them safe, only half listening because she was so totally over the who was to blame for the bombs thing. Monroe obviously wasn't aware that her mom was the absolute and undisputed queen of that particular little self-pitying exercise. Then she got tired of it and shrugged. 'Did it ever occur to you that you sucked at your job?'

It worked. He stopped talking, his face rigid, furious. Then he strained at the ropes holding him back, trying to get to her, the anger back full force… 'Maybe Miles has the right to say that to me. Maybe.' His eyes hurled blue sparks at her, 'But you? You don't, so shut your mouth, little girl.'

She smirked, shrugging a lock of hair back over her shoulder. Little girl? And being angry suited him, his eyes got even bluer, the lines of his face tighter, more intense, which was definitely a whole heap more interesting than the fake tears and the poor little me thing he'd just been doing. She was actually enjoying baiting him, sparring with him - and getting some payback for Philly at the same time. In fact it felt so fucking good her whole body was buzzing. 'What's the matter, ex President Monroe, can't handle the truth?'

He glared, his eyes burning at her for a long, long moment, almost vibrating with anger. Then the blue flickered into something dark and primal as he looked at her. His gaze slowly raking hot coals over her body, a rampant insinuation, 'I think you're enjoying this, Charlotte.'

She shrugged, the smirk sliding into wickedness, her eyes glinting.

He leaned back against the wall of the pool, almost relaxed, legs wide apart in a blatantly male display, his face masked and striped in the shadows of the ladder rungs. 'You like having me all tied up and helpless, don't you?' His lips curved in a half seen, shadowed smile that sent ricochets along her spine…

She didn't quite know how to react to that. It was true, but she didn't like him saying it. 'You're delusional.' But even she could hear how weak that sounded…

His eyes narrowed, 'don't lie, I can smell you all hot and wet down there, fuck, I can almost feel you…' he leaned forward again, his eyes in a bar of shadow although she could feel them on her, literally feel the heat in them, 'and I was wrong, Charlotte. You're all woman...'

Shit, she was in deep now. Her fingers tightened on the knife but she knew she wasn't going to use it, not yet anyway, although she was so very fucking tempted to reach out and hit him right in his smirking, beautiful face. Because he was right, she'd never been so turned on by anything in her life as much as she was right now. Having Monroe tied up in front of her, waiting for her to decide what she wanted to do with him was a bigger thrill than anything she'd ever felt before. Ever.

He was still watching her, his eyes like searing weights on her skin. 'So what are you going to do, Charlie?' He shrugged a little, the heavy, powerful muscles of his broad shoulders capturing her eyes, her senses...

She stared at him, hardly breathing, couldn't look away, her eyes moving over the big, so very male body, down to the long, strong legs and between... Her breath caught in her throat.

His head tipped a little, studying her… 'We're all alone here, no one to see, no one to tell.' He leaned forward a little more, the angles of his face cast in sharp, sculptural relief by the moon. 'You're a very beautiful woman, Charlotte and I've got absolutely no objections to you doing whatever you want with me. And as you said, you've already paid.' His tongue slid out, slowly dragging his bottom lip, his mouth twisting into that almost grin again. 'Besides you can always kill me afterwards.'

She looked at his lips, couldn't help it, they were shining now, almost wet, so tempting, and it was weird but everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Did he just say that he wanted her too? Her eyes moved over him again, slowly, lingering, curious. She knew exactly what was under the worn and dirty shirt, the old, pre-blackout leather jacket. She'd seen it back in New Vegas, and could guess what lay under the wrinkled pants because the evidence was growing thick and heavy before her eyes under the thin fabric, a promise of hard, wicked pleasure that set her pulse racing, clit pulsing and her breasts rising and falling in time with her thundering heart...

Jeff had been cute and she'd had fun with him, but Sebastian Monroe was as dangerous as he was beautiful, she couldn't forget that. He was hard and strong and tempered like a weapon, like her knife. But she was the one in control here now. That was a fact. She would have him on her terms, and he was right, she could always kill him afterwards…

Her mind had caught up to her body, accepted the possibilities. She could have what she wanted, could do whatever she wanted, because it didn't matter. He was right about that too.

And somehow he knew the moment she decided because his eyes lit up like stars exploding.

She sheathed her knife and stalked the couple of steps towards him, her eyes holding his, the distance between them shrinking, disappearing into irrelevance. Her hands reached for his chest, sliding over his shirt, the heat of his skin searing her palms through the thin material and his nipples pebbling hard as her fingers rippled over them.

She paused, fingers circling, pulling gently on the little nubs then twisting...

He drew in a sharp breath, his whole body shuddering, his face intent, avid...

She laughed, the sound hoarse, gasping, hardly believing that she was actually doing this, feeling the thud of this impossible man's heart under her hands, the smooth curves of muscle on his chest as she stroked him, and lower, the heavy ridges of muscle over his ribs, abdomen and the flat belly.

The roughened skin on her fingers caught on the fabric of his shirt and she shook them loose, looking up at him because she needed to see, almost surprised that she could, that the dawn had arrived without her realizing and the sun was rising, a half disc dazzling above the rim of the pool, the summer heat building already, a heat haze rising.

A beam of sharp, haze edged golden light glanced off the tiles on the wall behind them, shining in his face. He was staring down at her too, his eyes so bright and so close that she was caught in them, pulled into a shimmering blue that surrounded her, swallowed her up.

She felt it as he shifted a little, bracing himself against the wall to give her better access although he didn't say anything, nor did she, it was almost too big a thing for something as small as words…

Her fingers moved by themselves, undoing the buttons of his shirt, slowly and one by one. Partly out of habit because clothes were hard to replace, but also because she wanted to make it last, to sear this moment into her memory like a tattoo or a scar. Permanent.

She was going to fuck Sebastian Monroe and she was going to own him. She was going to fuck her demon and put him in his place. Prove to herself that he was just another man...

She undid the last button and pushed the shirt aside, leaving his chest bare. Then she stared…the sun was painting him gold and bronze, the shadows a deep purple and bruises and scars a landscape of battles old and new across his skin. His chest was smooth, hairless, but there was a faint, tantalizing trail of golden curls leading down from his belly button, disappearing under the belt of his pants. She circled his belly button with a finger, lightly tracing the sunlit trail down, watching as the skin there tightened, hearing him moan softly above her.

She looked up, her breath getting faster, shallow. And damn she couldn't seem to get enough air.

He was staring down at her, his eyes on her face, then on her hand, his mouth open a little and his tongue darting out, his own breathing harsh, expectant.

She leaned closer, smelled him, breathing him in. There were traces of New Vegas there, sweat and smoke and oil, some kind of liniment, as well as whiskey and testosterone, lots of that. She smiled and licked a nipple, her tongue finding salt, and blood and dust.

He gasped, his knees buckling a little, feet sliding on the dusty ground, shoulders braced and straining as he pulled at the ropes holding him, little runnels of sweat starting to slide down his throat, one pooling in the little hollow at the base of his throat.

She licked that too, her tongue swirling round the soft skin there, swallowing the bittersweet, salty droplet, pressing closer, her hips between his legs, his thick cock against her belly, a hard length that got harder and harder as she tried to get higher, climbing him, a leg wrapping around his thigh, then sliding down again. Shit. She leaned back, dizzy with need, the frustration of it making her slow, looking up into the dazzle of his eyes. 'You're too tall. I can't reach…'

He half grinned, half frowned down at her, frustration and amusement warring on his face. 'I was wondering when you'd work that out.' He shrugged, amusement winning, his eyes baiting her, 'You know if you untied my hands, it wouldn't be a problem.'

She shook her head, a crazy grin twisting her lips as her hungry body clamoured to set him free. She really, really wanted to feel those strong arms around her, lifting her high enough to slide her down over that lovely hard cock, holding her there while he drove in deep. She took a deep breath, forcing the thought down on its knees. 'I'm horny but I'm not stupid, Monroe'

He shrugged again and leaned back, the grin turning smug, an eyebrow lifting, 'I can think of a couple of other options but if you really want to fuck me you'll have to figure it out for yourself,' he closed his eyes, then slitted one blue eye open again. 'Wake me up when you do. I'll be right here waiting, all tied up. Helpless…'

She stared. Shit. He was unbelievable. 'Bastard.' She sucked in a frustrated breath, staring at the piles of junk around the edges of the pool. There had to be something. Then she saw it, an old kitchen chair, half buried under some kind of sheeting…

Just a few seconds later she was back in front of him, standing on the chair, 'Hey, Monroe'

A slow smile crept across his face, and he opened his eyes, squinting a little against the rising sun, 'knew you'd work something out.' He looked down at the chair, an eyebrow lifting. 'Nice chair.'

She grinned, triumphant. 'Shut up.' She took a big mouthful of whiskey from the flask in her hand, dropped the flask at her feet and leaned forward, her hands on his shoulders, more than tall enough to do that now. Then she kissed him, lips opening, pressing his open too, the whiskey flowing from her mouth into his like a benediction.

He grunted in surprise then swallowed it down, sucking in as much as he could get, his lips hungry on hers.

Charlie lost herself in the feel of him, his mouth, his scruff soft at first, then harsh on her cheeks, the whiskey mixing with the taste of a dry, dusty night spent tied up against a wall, her hands roaming over the broad, muscle padded shoulders, around the strong column of his neck and the thick planes of his back. Moving to his chest, stroking down, enjoying the feel of his skin, of muscle over long, strong bone, sinew and tendon. He really was just a man after all. She was almost surprised...

She stroked a hand down over the smooth, heated skin to his belt, flipping the buckle open, undoing the buttons, finding the domed helmet of his cock right there waiting for her, big, rounded, deliciously soft and hard at the same time.

He groaned, his breath speeding up as she wrapped her fingers around him, sliding the velvety skin up and down, down over the hard, thick shaft and up over the slick head again, her hands tight, hot, the fingers and palm strong but small, barely able to reach around him, twisting as she pulled, stretching him tight on each stroke. He swallowed, a laugh thrusting its way out of his throat, 'the next time I screw a woman as short as you, I'll have to remember to get her to stand on a chair.'

She glared at him, pressing closer, feeling his body hard and eager against hers. 'Bastard…' Then she realized she still had her jeans on. She let go, frantically wrestling with her belts and buttons, wriggling the tight jeans down, undoing the buckles of a boot, shoving the pant legs down and one of them off. She left one leg and the other boot on though, just in case she had to get dressed in a hurry. Long months on the road and a few close calls had taught her that…

He licked his lips as he watched her, his eyes hazy, the pupils pinned in the sun, 'before you get too carried away, could I have some more of that whiskey? I'm still feeling a little dry, I might even faint…'

'Yeah, right…' She smirked at him and bent over making sure she gave him an eyeful of her ass, grabbed the flask, flipping the cap as she stood back up, 'open your mouth…'

He laughed low in his throat, stared into her eyes, and slowly opened up…

She braced one hand on his shoulder, the flask in the other, and rested the open end on his bottom lip, trickling a stream of golden brown liquid into his mouth. It felt strangely and almost uncomfortably intimate feeding him whiskey, watching his eyes flutter closed in pleasure, the muscles of his throat ripple as he swallowed while she stood there, half naked, her ass bare, the sun hot on the pale skin, her pussy getting wetter by the second, the breeze cool on the damp curls between her thighs…

She slowed the flow, wanting to keep some for later…

He swallowed the last drops, licking his lips and sighing out a breath… 'There's only one thing I can think of right now that'd be sweeter than that whiskey,' he looked straight at her, 'and that'd be sucking on you,' His eyes travelled down, so hot, so blue, down over her breasts and lightly rounded belly to where her pussy waited, a neat triangle of brown gold curls, an upside down halo of golden strands glinting in the gap between her legs, 'I'd love to taste you, Charlie, I bet you taste of honey and sunshine…'

Her belly rippled and she almost dropped the flask when he said that as the image of him between her legs, using his lips and tongue on her surged through her, sending a bolt of sheer, molten desire rocketing straight down, maybe she'd let him do that next time...

She shoved the flask in the pocket of his jacket, holding tight to his shoulder for leverage and wound her free leg around his hip, her other hand reaching for his cock, moving him into position, feeling the thick head slide between her pussy lips and inside, spreading her wide with a slick, wet sound, their flesh slapping together as she took him in.

She moaned, it felt so good, so fucking good, even better than she'd imagined back in that tent. Her mouth fell open and she moaned again as she slid slowly up and down over his big cock, taking him all the way in, balls deep, her pussy lips tight against his flesh, her leg bent tight against his waist, her heel wedged between the cheeks of his ass, pressing in, finding the soft fur globes of his balls with the sole of her foot.

He pulled back then thrust into her hard, angling his hips so he could take her weight and kept thrusting, surging in again and again as he watched her face, her eyes half closed, hazy blue, gorgeous lips half open, the tip of her tongue flicking out over the middle of her bottom lip, cheeks flushed as he fucked her. Her beautiful Matheson face oblivious to everything else but pleasure, the sun making her hair a golden, stringy, dirty halo with absolutely nothing angelic about it.

Charlie felt him take charge but didn't care, all she cared about right then was that she was hurtling headlong and helpless towards a sunlit, spiralling dazzling orgasm that was like absolutely nothing she'd ever felt before. It was like she had a fever, her body buzzing, vibrating, focused on Monroe's cock plunging into her, his hard, hot body pulled close to hers, those amazing blue eyes filled with lust, a totally male excitement, a tomcat's total focus on her.

The sun surged above the walls of the pool, flooding them, bathing them in more and more heat and light until it was everything, everywhere...

And Charlie came and came, remembering just in time to pull herself off Monroe, feeling his steaming, spurting release fountain from his cock, caught between her belly and his, the streams of his come landing feather light and steaming over both of them.

She fell forwards, gasping, trying to get her breath, her head resting on his neck, her arms draped over his shoulders and her skin sticking to his from breasts to hip.

…

He listened. It was all quiet up top, except for the horses grazing, their teeth tearing mouthfuls of the grass that grew long and green on the abandoned parkland around the pool.

She'd gone.

He stretched, groaning as his back twinged. At least she'd done up his pants before she left, although she'd pulled his belt a little tight. His lips curved into a grin.

They'd fucked, and then she'd peeled herself off him, done up his pants, stepped down off the chair and gotten herself dressed without a word, not even looking his way until she had her boot back on and her jeans done up. Then she'd stared at him, not angry, not anything that he could work out…

'I'm not going to kill you, Monroe, not yet anyway.'

He hadn't dared laugh in case she changed her mind, although he'd wanted to, because this had to be one of the craziest situations he'd ever been in and that was saying something. Instead he nodded, 'That's nice, so are you going to leave your money on the fridge?'

She'd looked a little confused, distracted. Not angry though which was a good thing. 'What?'

He'd forgotten that pre-blackout stuff wouldn't mean anything to her. He shook his head, 'Nothing, just something people used to say...'

She'd shrugged and set the chair aside, gathered up her pack and bow and stood in front of him, her face serious but not still not homicidal, again good... 'I'm going to walk away now. You can have the wagon.'

'So you're just going to leave me here? Like this?'

She'd just looked at him, her blue eyes cool now, even in the rising heat of the day. Then she'd leaned forward, stretched up and pressed a kiss to his lips that burned and sizzled its way up to his brain and down to his hopeful cock, while she reached into his pocket and retrieved her whiskey flask. 'Yep.'

And then she'd just walked away, her hair tumbling down her back, that sweet, so fuckable ass swaying and her damn chain belt jingling with each step she took up the slope out of the pool.

…

He waited a few more minutes to make sure she'd gone. It seemed like a good idea to give her a head start, let her think she was on her own, although he was pretty sure she knew he was going to follow her, in fact he'd take a bet she was counting on it. He pulled his hands out from behind him, wincing a little, arms and shoulders stiff and fingers bloody from the shard of tile he'd finished peeling off the wall while they were having sex and used to cut the ropes.

He was pretty sure she knew about that too.

He'd follow her and eventually she'd lead him to Miles, because Sebastian Monroe had nothing better to do right now. Finding Miles wasn't the only thing he wanted now though, Charlie Matheson had just become a good enough reason all on her very own.

He grinned, looking forward to the chase, wondering whether she'd decide to fuck him or kill him next time.

It never paid to underestimate a Matheson…

….

AN: thanks so much for reading! I love New Vegas… and the pool scene… sigh… so had to visit it again lol! It was lovely imagining summer too – we are in winter here and it's cold!

BTW, Its been really hard to find time and energy for writing lately so for anyone following other stories of mine, you are lovely and I'm sorry for taking so long! I'm working on them all and I always finish stories (even if sometimes I start them up again…). Cheers and thanks again, oh I'd love to know what you think if you have a moment… Magpie


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